


To Melt an Ice Façade

by Chris_The_Trickster



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Catfish AU, Catfishing, Chatting & Messaging, Epistolary, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Texting, but not really, fake profile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chris_The_Trickster/pseuds/Chris_The_Trickster
Summary: Your 20's are a weird time in someone's life. One could still be trying to figure their future out while someone else might be having to follow a path strictly laid in front of them since the day of their conception, no ifs nor buts.Mycroft lived the first 25 years of his life as the latter, but an uneventful, tipsy, evening and a forgotten email address might be the chance for him to have a taste of the alternative.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	To Melt an Ice Façade

It was an uneventful evening, the dull ending of a day that has been just as uneventful. Mycroft was still seated at his desk, sifting diligently through his emails, picking and choosing which ones were even worth is interest and doing his periodic spam folder cleaning.

Mycroft Holmes was a peculiar young man, a brilliant one, but still a singular one, since he was conceived he had his whole life planned out for him; what he'll like, what he'll dislike, how he should sit, how he should eat, how he should talk and how he should walk, but most importantly how to answer the infamous question

“ _What do you want to be when you grow up?”_

which resulted in the slightest flinch, a little doubtful side glance, the clearing of his throat and the straightening of his back

“ _That information is highly classified.”_

which didn't exactly made him liked by his peers, especially as a child, but being liked wasn't in his duties! He even asked Mother to be really, really, sure it wasn't and she confirmed it, so he trained himself to stop caring about the matter. And for the better part of his life he actually believed himself to be successful.

So that's why he'd now be described as a peculiar young man, mature beyond his age, at least in his appearance and manners, elegant and cold like a neatly crafted ice statue that's been taught not to melt. But he couldn't be any other way, both being a Holmes and a 25 year old working to climb the rankings in the British Government.

That is also why said 25 year old is working on his emails, with a complementary glass of scotch, on a Friday night instead of mingling in some pub and bask in the scent of cheap beer and rampant hormones.

The sun was quietly setting, slowly leaving him enveloped in the dark, apart from the glowing white of his laptop screen illuminating his face. At this point he decided it would be best to take a break from his work emails and check his personal address, so he leaned back on his leather desk chair and logged out, ready to log into his other account.

As one does, he clicked on the little rectangle to type in his log in credential, but something in his autofill suggestions made him stop dead on his tracks.

_melissa.horton@****.co.uk_

He looked at that suggestion for a bit, clearly sensing there was something familiar about it, but he couldn't quite grasp it...

“Melissa Hor- _oh_ ”

And it came all back, sudden like a slap in the face in an old timey movie. Young, dumb and in love, and also very desperate to be taken back once he was left in the dust. Memories of the one time he let his facade crumble, all for a nibble of affection, of care. How... _sentimental_. How _pathetic._

He clicked on the offending name and put in the password, he had to know where these credentials were used and delete every profile attached to them, just like how he would delete from his head that time of his life. He'd just keep the lesson he learned as he tried to stitch together his broken heart

“ _Caring is not an advantage”_

To his relief, there were just facebook emails, a site he would never use for himself personally, but extremely useful for background checks. People tended to put every single part of their lives there. At least it was just one site, not much cleaning up to do.

Opening that site felt like dusting off an old graduation book full of pictures of people you didn't want to remember. Logging in felt almost alien. He, that was very much not a creature of sociality, on a site clearly meant for socializing.

A little white 1 on a red background was the first thing that caught his eye, it was placed right on top the “friend requests” icon, well now _that_ was weird, since the profile looked like it was abandoned for years. Curiosity definitely got the best of him, when he went to investigate with a click of his mouse.

Greg Lestrade

“Pedestrian name.” He murmured under his breath. His lack of appreciation for common names probably stemmed from the jealousy of not having one and being taunted for it, but he'd never admit it out loud.

He decided, against his better judgement, to check _Greg'_ s profile, God, such a dull name, probably chosen for someone just as du-

Oh

Oh no

He felt his jaw tense, then go slack in awe. Heat was rising to his cheeks, pale pink now a backdrop for his freckles. His hand went to his glass, downing the last drop of the amber liquid that kept him company that evening.

_Fluster_ , a thing he hasn't felt in ages. A feeling that he hoped he taught himself out of. But that crooked smile and big dark eyes just erased years of self discipline. And the sweetness of them made him forget why he should care about that.

He shook his head. _This is ridiculous!_ He thought, rubbing his palms on the fabric of his trousers, when did his hands get so sweaty? _It's probably an old request anyway, why should I care?_ But he couldn't help but wonder. The man in the picture, Greg, seemed like the kind of man that wouldn't even notice him. He sighed, his now dry-ish hands going straight to his temples.

_Why would I even think about that? It doesn't matter._

And yet he was still on his page, still lingering there. He had two clear choices, follow his brain, that vehemently banged pots and pans and was begging him to just delete his profile, or his heart, and just take a leap of faith.

He didn't want much, a casual conversation would be enough. These days he just talked about work, work and more work, or Sherlock this, Sherlock that, never a moment to himself, never a moment to truly feel like a person. Never having a real choice since his days in the womb.

Mycroft wasn't the only one to enjoy a weekend of quiet solitude, sipping on an adult drink, and just mindlessly scrolling on his laptop.

Greg Lestrade wasn't the type to sit at his desk to use his device, truth is, he did not yet own one. He didn't own much at all, to be fair. He had a humid shoe box as a flat, a double bed that at least came with the frame, the laptop that he saved for to use in uni, from which he dropped out very quickly, and an entry level job at New Scotland Yard as a copper.

He was laying on his stomach on his bed, laptop in front of him, and scrolling through endless posts about one's kids, one's marriage, one's achievements or one's pet. The last category being the one he enjoyed the most.

He got to the point that he wasn't even really paying attention at what he was seeing on the site, just finding the monotony of scrolling on his touch pad therapeutic in its dullness.

It was a loud ping from the speakers that took him out of his funk.

He checked his notifications and- _ugh_ , he didn't even understood why facebook had those dumb _friends suggestions_ , if he knew someone he'd already be friends with them, no?

But... he was bored, he was alone, it was the weekend and he was too tired to mingle in real life, so why not? It wasn't like he had anything to lose.

“Melissa... let's see...” He clicked on her name and he was greeted by the smile of pretty girl in the profile picture, ginger hair and freckles, which he had sort of a soft spot for. It seemed though that Melissa hadn't been online for quite some time, her last post was from a few years ago. He didn't stumble upon a memorial page, didn't he? That would be morbid, but maybe she just stopped having her posts be public, and it didn't say anything about her meeting an early grave. Why in the hell would facebook suggest a memorial page as a friend!?

Maybe he was thinking a bit too much, a lot of people stopped using facebook at some point.

_Goddammit_ , he shook his head to push his ridiculous thoughts away, _It's a bloody friend request, you're not proposing!_

He clicked, and a minute passed.

_Ping!_

“Bloody hell...” He thought out loud “I didn't plan to get this far.”

At least something was for sure, Melissa was alive and she was also online right now, which was good. And she accepted his request right away, which was also good. But he had no idea how to talk to the pretty lass without coming off as creepy, like one of those blokes that ask for tits pictures and send their shaft around, which was most certainly bad.

But if he wasn't about to harass the poor lass and he had no creepy intent, just a chat with a stranger. Now that he thought of it, wasn't that creepy too? But even then, it's a stranger, it's not like he has to marry and her on her profile it says that she's not from London, so it's not like he'd meet her in the streets after an awful conversation.

He cracked himself his second can of beer of the night, took a nice gulp of liquid courage. _It's just a message,_ He repeated to himself, before busying himself thinking and typing.

_> Hello there :)_

Mycroft found himself staring at the message that arrived as soon as he accepted the friend request. Maybe it wasn't as old as he thought it was, which was a good thing, wasn't it? He hoped for some safe and casual human interaction, but now he realized that he really didn't know how those worked.

_At least the smiley face seems friendly_ , he thought, _should I use one too? But I never use them, would that come off as fake?_ He had the smarts to stop and start wars, discuss with royalty as if he was their equal, ridicule seasoned politicians with the arching of a brow and yet... he knew nothing about amicable conversing.

And he was really starting to freak out about it, as if the empire would fall if he made the wrong move.

And then it clicked.

_It's not me._ He poured himself another glass of his spirit of choice. _It's Melissa. And she's pretty, confident and doesn't have guidelines to follow for every action she takes or decision she makes._ He took a sip of his scotch. His realization and the drink warmed up his insides. _She isn't me._

He sighed, relived. But how exactly would she talk?

Finishing his drink, and letting the pleasant buzz dull his usually sharp thinking, he decided that he would just try. Not much thinking and without putting much weight into it, just try. _You don't have anything to lose_ , he repeated himself, a concept so alien to him that he'd have to keep reminding himself.

Oh God

_Oh God_

_**Oh God!** _

That was it, he already lost his chance, she left him on read. He regretted that message as soon as he hit send, of course she found it creepy! Who messages a stranger right away? A really desperate person, that's who.

_This could've been good,_ he sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

Time seemed to pass so slowly that the only indication that weeks haven't gone by was that the sun was still barely grazing the horizon to leave London in the dark.

The only thing keeping him busy and somewhat relaxed was draining his beer. Tomorrow he will absolutely hate him for his decision to drink this liberally, but right now the alternative was just waiting quietly with shaky hands and overthink so hard it would seem like he made a living off of it.

Sip

Sigh

Sip

_Ping!_

With a slight shake of his head, as if that would wake up his tipsy braincells, he turned his attention back to the screen. He didn't want to hype himself too early, it could've been a mate from work, someone who he hasn't spoken to since high school trying to sell him something or his mom sending him questionably funny images even!

_> Greetings to you too_

He suddenly found himself sobering up in a split second, and felt his palms getting significantly sweatier.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Avid reader and first time poster, what a way to pop my cherry, innit? English isn't my first language nor my strongest suit, but the lovely @sailorcass on tumblr (also known as my only living braincell) read it and lowkey beta-ed it, and told me it was good so here I am posting it! I hope that you'll forgive any typos and like this unappreciated niche kinda of au that I personally adore! Updates might not be frequent, but kudos, comments or even little suggestions are so very welcome! :D
> 
> TAGS AND RATINGS MAY VARY!


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